


Dream Fish

by Suspekt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Demon Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Enderman Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Existentialism, Gen, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspekt/pseuds/Suspekt
Summary: Perhaps you have slipped in-between the folds of your sheet covers in disappeared beyond reality. The world behind your eyelids is all consuming and it may never let you leave.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Dream Fish

The world had melted away and become something other. Solid stone bricks that had taken hours to craft individually and weeks to form a complete structure in a moment had lost their rigid lines and dimensions and morphed like gelatin into another form all together. The bricks and the cement between became one and then parted infinitely across a wall that betrayed its original purpose in its ever changing form and confounding dimensions. The wall and its amorphous bricks were then swallowed in a typhoon of colour and knowledge as hundreds of books of sizes that each novel chose indiscriminately hid the wall with their steadily growing and shrinking bodies. It was astounding how the books remained stable and in place as the wooden shelf they had been placed on contorted as though it had never left the high winds of the long beach it was taken from. It bent and curved in unnatural forms and along with it the books it carried across its long back bent and curved in unison with serpent they now resided on. The shelf seemed almost desperate to free itself from the wall until on closer inspection it revealed that in fact the wooden beam slid through the walls like a worm through dirt creating channels through the stone brick that would have made the walls appear not too dissimilar from swiss cheese if you were to take a cross section of them. It was then natural to assume that like the worm who sustained itself on the nutrients within the dirt left behind by death and birth the shelf too was feeding on something within the walls as well. But what could that be? No plant or beast had died in the walls during their creation. The farm of cows was kept a fair distance away from the crafting area for reasons that presumably were intertwined with the feeding of the shelf. The only living being then who had been in contact with the walls at any point during their construction was then himself who had gathered components and performed all the manual labour in order to build himself a home. A fear dawned on him. Primal. A primordial predator had locked eyes with him and his fate was dawning. As the shelf continued its feasting within the wall he looked down at his hands. Black and White. Scuffed and calloused from hard labour and war. His fingernails, long but inconsistent. They tore frequently during his day to day activities on doors, latches and occasionally clothing. Torn and tossed, carelessly at the time, into the walls. He tried to shuffle himself into the centre of the bed below him to distance himself from the icon of death he had inadvertently let into his own home through sheer foolishness and lack of knowledge. He could not move. The oldest fear known to man reared its ugly head. The progenitor. A form not too far from the blended bricks that surrounded him. He forced out his arms in defiance mustering every last vial of blood and effort into his shoulders and fingers in order to push away the eternal spirit that had come for him. He wished to scream but knew that he would not hear himself. The shelf devoured. His eyes clenched shut.

The colours were astounding. He had heard of lobsters and other strange creatures that could see rainbows far beyond human perception and he too had seen colours before his eyes that his friends could not. But now. In the oily blackness behind his eyelids he saw it all. Hexagons atop hexagons in vibrant colours he certainly could not name himself and yet was sure that if the greatest artists who had ever lived could share this vision with him they would surely go blind with pride for what he had achieved. They spliced and intertwined. Crashing into one another and forming ever complex colours from the resulting shrapnel. He could not shake the profound feeling that he was witnessing the birth of life itself incredibly as part of his own body chemistry occurring an inch or two away from his own brain. The shelf presumably still endlessly devoured outside his corporeal body but it could not reach him here. As he leant forwards to inspect a particular polygon that had caught his eye with its unique purple like hue that seemed all too familiar to him he began to feel himself fall head over heels. Spiraling downwards into his own vision. The sensation was vaguely euphoric as he fell, an intense feeling of satisfaction overwhelmed him. As though he had achieved some goal that had been rooted deeply within his consciousness, a cicada of desire and want. He fell deeper and as he did the cicada emerged from its cocoon steadily. He desperately wanted to see what his subconscious mind had created oh so long ago. A childhood memory from before he had experienced more than any individual should have to experience in a thousand life times. Old words from a figure important to him yet he couldn’t remember their face so all that appeared was a bubbling plane of the faces of his good friends who had kept him safe in a strange land he had no reason being in but was there anyway. While the words had not yet been retold to him he cursed his fractured memory and the torment it brought him. His life would have been easier if he were not a fool who could be led on by promises of music and togetherness. 

A single wing burst from the cocoon. White. A kaleidoscope of colour rippled across the thin membrane that connected the branches of cartilage that gave the wing shape and form and ultimately allowed for the potential of flight. He watched as the colour came down from the still obscured abdomen across the twig of malleable false bone and into the wing itself creating waves of spectacular bioluminescence. The cartilage itself seemed to bend and curl under the strain of pushing all the colour into the wing like the end of a rope being pushed around by the waves atop the water's surface yet never moving from its fixed position. He looked to see if the general form of the wing contorted itself in a way similar to the bricks and shelf before and was grateful to find that they did not. Instead the wing remained rigid not fluttering or moving an inch as the colour and movement of the cartilage pulsed through it. As he looked closer he began to notice small portions of damage to the wing’s outer edge. Small dents like chipped paint made the seemingly perfectly curved edge seem inconsistent and mountainous. Peaks and troughs sprawled across the edge of the wing like a graph storying the highs and lows of this lonely wing's short life. He was then posed with a question of where the damage had come from. The wing had only existed in this space for a few moments but the damage its outer edge had received seemed to imply that it had been kept for years on end locked away from the rest of the world. The inexplicable flaking of the wing’s surface attracted an unwarranted concern for the cicada inside. Perhaps it would be still born and the cicada’s lifeless body would fall gracelessly like a coconut from a tree and disappear into flakes of chitin and membrane on the way down. 

Then a second wing rocketed out of the opposite side of the cocoon. Equal in its beauty and complexity. The same oil slick colours poured across it emanating from the cocoon its self as the two wings briefly fluttered as if announcing that there was still more to come.

“Death has not taken you yet my little friend” he spoke silently into nothingness. 

He reached out and softly caressed the bark-like surface that shielded the main body of the hidden cicada from his gaze. In response the two wings pressed themselves back for a moment, desperately trying to make contact with the hand that had reminded them that they were not the sole being of this space. They stretched, almost coming in contact with his wrist and lower palm before suddenly snapping back into place and hanging there motionless. 

It was a relief to know that death had not come to this work of art quite just yet. The cicada was known for its long life but also its scarcity. No other creature in the animal kingdom behaved in quite the way it did with its cycles of life that seemed to defy any normal scale and operated on a level entirely their own beyond human understanding. At least for now. How many years had this small beauty been hidden from him and yet had just now revealed itself? Such astounding craftsmanship to create a being that operated on such an independent level from everything else going on around it. A universal constant. Older than some countries he knew of perhaps. Maybe it would outlive countries that had not yet been formed? It had certainly outlived some quite notable individuals in the history of the world he had found himself in. Death was not permanent except for some. Maybe the cicada would outlast him too?

The bark of the cocoon slowly began to snap and break in the space between the two wings as the cicada inside forced its way into reality and perception. Its back arched aggressively as it used solely the force of the joints that connected its wings to its body it pushed itself free from its self imposed isolation. The two joints on its back that now revealed themselves shon with the same colours that cascaded along the wings only infinitely brighter and in an ever changing mixture that made it impossible to distinguish one colour from another before they both quickly faded away. Despite the array of colour present he could tell that there was a white underlayer that was persistent throughout each of the many thousands of colour changes. Following the shoulders came the head. Two insectoid eyes as black as the void that surrounded them, separated from each other by an uncomfortably long distance of white chitin with ripples of blue occasionally streaking across. They looked around in every direction for a moment. Darting across the long black trying to adjust to a light that was not present. Instead they latched onto the dim red and green glow from his eyes that softly illuminated his hands that now cupped this emerging life.

**Author's Note:**

> this is not over


End file.
